“America has a history of opposing imperialism wherever we find it,” replied Roosevelt. “We threw the British out of our own country, and we’re fully prepared to throw the Belgians out of the Congo.”
“Just as, when you were President, you threw the Panamanians out of Panama?” asked Silva sardonically.
“America has no imperial claim to Panama. The Panamanians have their own government and we recognize it.” Roosevelt paused. “However, we’re not talking about Panama, but about the Congo.”
Silva stared at Roosevelt. “For whom do you speak, Mr. Roosevelt?” asked Silva. “You are no longer President, so surely you do not speak for America.”
“I speak for the citizens of the Congo.”
Silva laughed contemptuously. “They are a bunch of savages who have no interest whatsoever in who rules them.”
“Would you care to put that to a vote?” asked Roosevelt with a smile.
“So they vote now?”
“Not yet,” answered Roosevelt. “But they will as soon as they are free to do so.”
“And who will set them free?”
“We will,” interjected Boyes from his seat halfway down the table.
“You will?” repeated Silva, turning to face Boyes. “I’ve heard about you, John Boyes. You have been in trouble with every government from South Africa to Abyssinia.”
“I don’t get along well with colonial governments,” replied Boyes.
“You don’t get along well with native governments, either,” said Silva. He turned to Roosevelt. “Did you know that your companion talked the ignorant natives who proclaimed him their king into selling him Mount Kenya for the enormous price of four goats?”
“Six,” Boyes corrected him with a smile. “I wouldn’t want it said that I was cheap.”
“This is ridiculous!” said Silva in exasperation. “I cannot believe I am hearing this! Do you really propose to conquer the Belgian Congo with a force of 53 men?”
“Absolutely not,” said Roosevelt pleasantly.
“Well, then?”
“First,” said Roosevelt, “it is the Congo, not the Belgian Congo. Second, we don’t propose to conquer it, but to liberate it. And third, your intelligence is wrong. There are only 48 men in my party.”
“48, 53 — what is the difference?”
“Oh, there is a difference, Mr. Silva,” said Roosevelt. He paused. “The other five are halfway to Nairobi by now.”
“What do they propose to do once they get there?” asked Silva suspiciously.
“They propose to tell the American press that Teddy Roosevelt — who is, in all immodesty, the most popular and influential American of the past half century — is under military attack by the Belgian government. His brave little force is standing firm, but he can’t hold out much longer without help, and if he should die while trying to free the citizens of the Congo from the yoke of Belgian tyranny, he wants America to know that he died at the hands of King Albert, who, I believe, has more than enough problems in Europe without adding this to his burden.”
“You are mad!” exclaimed Silva. “Do you really think anyone will care what happens here?”
“That is probably just what the Mahdi said to Chinese Gordon at the fall of Khartoum,” said Roosevelt easily. “Read your history books and you’ll see what happened when the British people learned of his death.”
“You are bluffing!”
“You are welcome to think so,” replied Roosevelt calmly. “But in two months’ time, 50,000 Americans will be standing in line to fight at my side in the Congo — and if you kill me, you can multiply that number by one hundred, and most of them will want to take the battle right to Belgium.”
“This is the most preposterous thing I have ever heard!” exclaimed Silva.
Roosevelt reached into a pocket of his hunting jacket and pulled out a thick, official-looking document he had written the previous day.
“It’s all here in black and white, Mr. Silva. I suggest that you deliver it to your superior as quickly as possible, because he’ll want to send it on to Belgium, and I know how long these things take.” He paused. “We’d like you out of the Congo in six months, so you can see that there’s no time to waste.”
“We are going nowhere!”
Roosevelt sighed deeply. “I’m afraid you are up against an historic inevitability,” he said. “You have 20 armed men. I have 47, not counting myself. It would be suicidal for you to attack us here and now, and by the time you return from Stanleyville, I’ll have a force of more than 30,000 Mangbetu plus a number of other tribes, who will not be denied their independence any longer.”
“My men are a trained military force,” said Silva. “Yours are a ragtag band of outcasts and poachers.”
“But good shots,” said Roosevelt with a confident grin. He paused again and the grin vanished. “Besides, if you succeed in killing me, you’ll be the man who precipitated a war with the United States. Are you quite certain you want that responsibility?”
Silva was silent for a moment. Finally he spoke.
“I will return to Stanleyville,” he announced. “But I will be back. This I promise you.”
“We won’t be here,” answered Roosevelt.
“Where will you be?”
“I have no idea — but I have every intention of remaining alive until news of what’s happening here gets back to America.” Roosevelt paused and smiled. “The Congo is a large country, Mr. Silva. I plan to make many more friends here while awaiting Belgium’s decision.”
Silva got abruptly to his feet. “With this paper,” he said, holding up the document, “you have signed not only your own death warrant, but the death warrant of every man who follows you.”
Boyes laughed from his position halfway down the table. “Do you know how many death warrants have been issued on me? I’ll just add this one to my collection.” He paused, amused. “I’ve never had one written in French before.”
“You are both mad!” snapped Silva, stalking off toward his men.
Roosevelt watched the assistant governor mount his horse and gallop off, followed by his twenty soldiers.
“I suppose we should have invited him to stay for dinner,” he remarked pleasantly.
“You don’t really think this is going to work, do you?” asked Boyes.
“Certainly.”
“It’s a lot of fancy talk, but it boils down to the fact that we’re still only 53 men,” said Boyes. “You’ll never get the natives to go to war with the Belgians. They haven’t any guns, and even if they did, we can’t prepare them to fight a modern war in just six months’ time.”
“John, you know Africa and you know hunting,” answered Roosevelt seriously, “but I know politics and I know history. The Congo is an embarrassment to the Belgians; Leopold wasted so much money here that his own government took it away from him two years ago. Furthermore, Europe is heading hell for leather for a war such as it has never seen before. The last thing they need is a battle with America over a piece of territory they didn’t really want to begin with.”
“They must want it or they wouldn’t be here,” said Boyes stubbornly.
Roosevelt shook his head. “They just didn’t want anyone else to have it. When Africa was divided among the great powers in 1885, Belgium would have lost face if it hadn’t insisted on its right to colonize the Congo, but it’s been an expensive investment that has been a financial drain and a political embarrassment for more than two decades.” He paused. “And what I said about General Gordon was true. He refused to leave Khartoum, and his death eventually forced the British government to take over the Sudan when the public demanded that they avenge him.” Suddenly Roosevelt grinned. “A lot more people voted for me than ever even heard of Gordon. Believe me, John, the Belgian government will bluster and threaten for a month or two, and then they’ll start negotiating.”